Moby Dick
by MissJayne
Summary: Normally, he went after anything he perceived as his failure like a dog with a bone. She was going to buy him a copy of Moby Dick for Christmas and make sure he read it cover to cover... Jibbs fluff.


_A/N: Aly, I hope this cheers you up. Everyone else, I was asked/demanded to write a oneshot based on the following two lines from Quarantine (another story of mine) rather a long time ago. The quote at the end is from Moby Dick if anyone is interested._

Moby Dick

**Normally, he went after anything he perceived as his failure like a dog with a bone. She was going to buy him a copy of Moby Dick for Christmas and make sure he read it cover to cover.  
**_**Quarantine**_

Jennifer Shepard stared blankly at the pile of paperwork she was supposed to be dealing with.

Unable to settle on something as mundane as stacks of files, her mind was elsewhere, on the team below her, working away at the whim of their leader. The foul mood he was in. His team unable to settle on being scared of him or willing to mess about.

She worried about Gibbs' team more than she was supposed to, more than she did for the others. Not exactly what a Director should do, but Gibbs had been her boss, had taught _her_ once upon a time. She couldn't help paying special attention to his Major Case Response Team.

And now _el jefe _had a cold. A bad cold.

Never mind that Gibbs was Superman and no bug would ever dare attack him. She was worried about his health for other reasons. More _personal _reasons. Her lover refused to admit that he was ill or in any way impaired, despite his rotten mood and the rate he was getting through her boxes of tissues.

Not to mention the health scare they'd both had four months ago. Being potentially exposed to an unknown toxin and the subsequent fourteen days they had been forced to spend in each other's company in quarantine had made them realize their feelings for each other. _Again_. Now they both seemed acutely aware of the other's health. He'd practically had a heart attack when she had sneezed a month ago.

His team didn't have a clue or, if they did, weren't stupid enough to mention it. Especially as another prank war seemed to be in the making, as well as the cold. No one dared to get on the wrong side of Gibbs right now, not even Abby who was slipping him cough drops.

A soft knock at the door drew her from her thoughts. Assuming it was Ziva with an update on her boss' behavior, she slipped her glasses off. "Come in," she called.

But it was not the Israeli. Jethro treated her door with reverence for once in his life. She stared at him as he sat down in a chair and waited patiently for her to say something.

It took her a moment to find her voice. "Do I need to call Ducky?" she inquired.

"I'll be fine, Jen," he replied.

She studied him carefully. A few beads of sweat on his brow warned her of his fever. "You should go home," she tried to order him.

"I survived fourteen days in quarantine; I'll make it through this," he answered.

She arched an eyebrow, knowing this wasn't the whole story. "Jethro, you're worrying me," she told him.

He sighed. "They're starting another prank war."

Jenny didn't need to ask who _they _were. She winced as she recalled the mess she and Jethro had returned to after their quarantine – Tony and Ziva having almost destroyed the agency in her absence. She could well understand Jethro's reluctance to leave his team unsupervised.

"A deal," she proposed. "You go home; I move my office to your desk."

He rolled his eyes but she could see him relaxing slightly. "Should have just stayed a field agent," he quipped.

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs sipped his coffee as he glanced at the clock again.

She was late.

For the past four months, they had both been making an effort to spend more time together outside of the office. It meant working hard, but with a goal at the end of the day. She tried to leave early; he tried not to bring cases home. Everything went to pieces whenever he caught a case or she was needed in MTAC to oversee a long mission, but they were trying their hardest and he couldn't ask for more.

Which was why Jenny running late concerned him on tonight of all nights.

It meant either something had happened to her or his team were completely out of control. He desperately hoped it was his team – he could yell at them in the morning, but he didn't know what he'd do without Jenny.

The front door opened and he sipped his coffee again, his gut telling him it was his lover and she would follow the smell of coffee instinctively. Jenny appeared moments later, pulling off her coat and collapsing on the nearest chair.

"Long day?" he asked carefully.

"Tony said something stupid, Ziva tried to kill him… Do you know how hard it is to stop a Mossad assassin from killing someone?" She smiled at him, exhausted but still playful.

He pushed his coffee towards her and started hunting for the food Noemi had left. Thankfully it only needed reheating or the kitchen would be in danger from Jenny's attempts to cook.

"That was sweet," she noted. "Not necessarily sanitary."

He chucked the plate in the microwave, pausing only to shoot her a grin to remind her of some other _things_ they had shared over the years. She chuckled as she helped herself to his caffeine.

"Sorry I was so late," she added. "Paperwork. But it's done and I'm all yours now."

He did not bother to remind her of Rule Six; it was too late at night to end up slinging the rules at each other in what would only turn into an argument. He was just glad to have her back.

Even if Tony and Ziva were dead tomorrow.

It wasn't long before they disappeared upstairs, both tired. He tugged the sheets over himself as she switched on the lamp and located the book they were reading.

It was supposed to be _his_ book, not that he'd ever read it on his own. Not enough action for his liking. And it was like trying to plough through Shakespeare. Instead, he'd whined and pleaded and somehow persuaded her to read a little to him every night. He actually paid attention to her beautiful voice – she read it far better than he ever could, and she lulled him to sleep.

"Where did we get to?" she muttered to herself.

"Chapter twenty," he reminded her, stoutly ignoring the bookmark and snuggling close to the redhead.

She smiled, whether at him, his actions or the book he could not be sure. Clearing her throat, she began.

"_A day or two passed, and there was great activity aboard the Pequod. Not only were the old sails being mended, but new sails were coming on board, and bolts of canvas, and coils of rigging; in short, everything betokened that the ship's preparations were hurrying to a close. Captain Peleg seldom or never went ashore, but sat in his wigwam keeping a sharp look-out upon the hands: Bildad did all the purchasing and providing at the stores; and the men employed in the hold and on the rigging were working till long after night-fall._"


End file.
